I spoke to Hass today, we didn't have our usual tea. We just met in front of the cafe and took a walk. He said he was planning to join the biggest protest downtown Belhati where he is from, scheduled to happen this Saturday.
"I once was part of this massive protest to topple our nation's regime. Have your folks figured out what to do next after the protest?"
"No. Everyone's got a different idea of what could be the cure to this illness in our city. So far, the idea of protesting is what unites us. Thinking of the solution will divide us."
"Yeah, but someone's gotta come up with something logical and likable enough. Your movement needs a face. Once you've got a face, it's easier to find a momentum and make that jump to the next phase."
Hass rubbed his hands from cold and blew onto them, "We'll see..." he said.
We were quiet most of the walk. I asked if he was going to make use of his photography skill during the protest, and Hass answered with a fatigue that he's considering it. And there was silence. A long silence.
At the end of our walk, we stood by the junction, just randomly to break the discomfort I blurted, "I saw a photograph today with a beautiful caption. It was a picture of a very old canoe rower, maybe somewhere in India. He was relaxing on his canoe, floating on a river the color of mud. The old rower has in his hand, a striking yellow flower. I think it's called marigold. And he was gently attending it. The caption says, 'People. Struggling when they can just give up. People. Finding joy in tiniest of things when there's an ocean full of reasons for sadness. People. Believing in colour so vibrant in the darkest of days. People. Strange and hopeful.' "
Hass listened to my monologue while looking down his shoes. He looked up when I finished, gave me an awry smile. We hugged and I whispered, "I'll see you again soon. Stay safe."
And we said good bye.
"I once was part of this massive protest to topple our nation's regime. Have your folks figured out what to do next after the protest?"
"No. Everyone's got a different idea of what could be the cure to this illness in our city. So far, the idea of protesting is what unites us. Thinking of the solution will divide us."
"Yeah, but someone's gotta come up with something logical and likable enough. Your movement needs a face. Once you've got a face, it's easier to find a momentum and make that jump to the next phase."
Hass rubbed his hands from cold and blew onto them, "We'll see..." he said.
We were quiet most of the walk. I asked if he was going to make use of his photography skill during the protest, and Hass answered with a fatigue that he's considering it. And there was silence. A long silence.
At the end of our walk, we stood by the junction, just randomly to break the discomfort I blurted, "I saw a photograph today with a beautiful caption. It was a picture of a very old canoe rower, maybe somewhere in India. He was relaxing on his canoe, floating on a river the color of mud. The old rower has in his hand, a striking yellow flower. I think it's called marigold. And he was gently attending it. The caption says, 'People. Struggling when they can just give up. People. Finding joy in tiniest of things when there's an ocean full of reasons for sadness. People. Believing in colour so vibrant in the darkest of days. People. Strange and hopeful.' "
Hass listened to my monologue while looking down his shoes. He looked up when I finished, gave me an awry smile. We hugged and I whispered, "I'll see you again soon. Stay safe."
And we said good bye.
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